


The Parker-Strange Method

by mediatrix_of_all_graces



Category: Doctor Strange (2016), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Car Accidents, Character Death, Emotional Numbness, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Heavy Angst, Hurt Peter Parker, Hurt/Comfort, Maybe - Freeform, Minor Original Character(s), Ned Leeds is a Good Bro, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Panic Attacks, Peter Parker-centric, Sensory Overload, Some Fluff, Swearing, Tags May Change, but there will be a happy ending, characters may be slightly OOC, eventually, honestly this is just shameless whump, sorry - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-21
Updated: 2018-10-14
Packaged: 2019-07-14 23:07:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16050437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mediatrix_of_all_graces/pseuds/mediatrix_of_all_graces
Summary: Peter Parker's life wasn't perfect, but he had everything he'd ever need. His amazing aunt, his nerdy best friend, and his crime fighting alter ego.Then his entire world is turned upside down. But comfort can be found in unexpected places.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> WOWWIE I wasn't planning on posting this until i had a solid few chapters queued up, but progress has been super slow and i thought maybe posting this first chapter would help speed things up a little. That being said, I apologize in advance if my updating schedule is super wacky or even almost nonexistent.
> 
> This is unbeta-ed, so any and all mistakes are mine. If you see anything that needs fixing, or anything that needs a tag or warning, please let me know so i can fix it :))
> 
> Also if anyone is wondering, this sort of takes place *instead* of Spider-Man: Homecoming, and definitely before Thor: Ragnarock. Time is relative so just go with it.

[The Soundtrack So Far](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6gGLsnd0yVgqGkEmismgXO)

 

“Peter, I’m home!” called May Parker as she stepped into the apartment she shared with her nephew, and tossed her keys onto the table. She toed off her shoes with a sigh of relief, exhausted from work that day.

 

It had been about two weeks since she had started taking the twelve hour shifts at the hospital, instead of eight, and it hasn’t exactly been the easiest of transitions. But, the pay raise was certainly welcome, especially since money was tighter than ever right now. May wasn’t about to complain.

 

She pulled a bottle of wine out of the freezer, hoping to have a glass or two before heading to bed so she could get a few extra hours of sleep in. May was just about to pour a glass of the cheap chardonnay when she noticed how quiet the place was. She could’ve sworn Peter said he was going to be home tonight, and yet the apartment was dead silent.

 

“Peter?” she called out, walking down the hallway and toward his room. There was no reply. Just a loud thud, followed by a muffled _‘Goddammit!’_ May opened the door to find Peter laying on the floor and rubbing his head. In full costume.

 

“Peter!” she repeated, this time much more panicked. She rushed over to his side, checking him over for injuries.

 

“Hey, May,” he groaned as he sat up. “I’m fine, just tripped and hit my head on the way in.” She nodded in silent relief.

 

May had known about her nephew’s alter-ego for a few months now, and to say she didn’t like it would be a severe understatement. But as much as she and Peter fought over it in the beginning, she knew she could never take Spiderman away from him. Fighting crime, sticking up for the little guy, was just a part of who Peter was, and May was trying her best to make peace with it.

 

She had accepted it, but that didn’t mean her anxiety wouldn’t spike at the mere thought of Peter getting hurt on the job. She plastered on a smile and willed her hands to stop fidgeting. “If you insist. How was patrol?” she asked.

 

A small grin spread across Peter’s face. “Really good! I stopped two muggings and helped a man find his dog. He was super nice and had the softest ears-- uh, the dog I mean. Not the man. Well, he was actually pretty nice too, and he tried to give me his bicycle for my help,” he rushed out.

 

May raised an eyebrow. “Really?” she asked, amused.

 

Peter nodded enthusiastically. “Yeah, the guy was really worried about his dog. He wouldn’t stop thanking me once we found him. Anyways, I told him thanks for the offer on the bike, but I have my own way of getting around,” he said, holding up his web-shooters.

 

“Sounds like you had a busy day,” May said as she got to her feet. Peter did the same.

 

“Busy, but I had a lot of fun,” he replied. “Oh, can you take me to Ned’s tonight?”

 

“Sure, sweetie. You spending the night?”

 

Peter reddened at the nickname, earning a chuckle from his aunt. “Yeah. His parents bought him the new LEGO Millenium Falcon and we still hafta put it together,” he said as he pulled out his backpack and started filling it with his overnight clothes.

 

May clicked her tongue. “Ah, so that’s why you’re in such a hurry to pack. Well, you’ll have to contain your excitement for now; if I’m driving, then you have to accept my one condition.”

 

“Sure, what is it?”

 

“Thai food first. I hope you’re hungry!”

 

As if on cue, Peter’s stomach rumbled loudly, and May laughed. “Starving,” he agreed. Peter waited as his aunt walked back down the hall and out of sight before tucking his suit and web-shooters away safely in his bag. Then, satisfied he had packed everything he needed, Peter flipped the lights off and followed May out to the car.

 

  


 

 

Twenty minutes later saw the pair seated at the restaurant with so much food covering the table, they could barely see the surface underneath. They hadn't even ordered most of the dishes, which meant Matt, or 'Sticky rice pudding guy,' as May and Peter had taken to calling him, was working that night.

 

May looked over all the assorted dishes of food, overwhelmed. “What are we gonna do with all this food?” she asked Peter, who had already begun to dig in.

 

“Enhanced metabolism, remember? It won’t be a problem,” he assured her around bites of noodles. May hummed in agreement.

 

“Well, that was very nice of him, but he’s much too young for me—”

 

Peter choked on his food. “May! I don’t want to hear about that, you’re my aunt!”

 

“Oh, hush. Just because I’m your aunt doesn’t mean I don’t date,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Anyway, he’ll definitely be out of a job once his boss finds out about all the food he’s giving away.”

 

“Wait, he’s coming back,” Peter warned, “and… Is that _another_ plate of food?”

 

“Oh no,” May muttered under her breath, before looking up at the young waiter with a slightly pained smile. She hoped it didn’t look too much like a grimace.

 

“Gai Pad King, on the house. Enjoy,” he said with a wink, then headed back into the kitchen. Upon further inspection, Matt had also left behind a napkin with a name and phone number hastily scribbled on. As if May hadn’t received the first three napkins.

 

May put her head in her hands. “Poor guy,” she said, “but I just can’t bring myself to reject him. The free food is just too good to give up.”

 

Peter opened his mouth, ready to reply in agreement, but something else caught his attention. May turned around, following her nephew's gaze. When she identified the source of his distraction, she felt her earlier panic begin to creep back in, infecting her thoughts. Distantly, she heard Peter call over to the restaurant owner. “Can you turn it up?” he asked, pointing at the story on the news.

 

_“--new development in the ongoing investigation into a group, possibly a cult, that is still at large and terrorizing the Manhattan area. The NYPD is working tirelessly to find said group. With the help of a few eyewitnesses, the police have now produced this rough sketch of the person largely believed to be the leader of this group. The suspect is an African American male of muscular build, around 5’10”, and believed to be in his mid thirties to early forties. He was last seen wearing what witnesses are describing as, quote, ‘eccentric, green robes.’ Detectives are urging anyone with information about the suspect or the group to call the NYPD hotline. Police are also advising those in the Manhattan area to be vigilant at all times, avoid traveling alone or through inactive streets, and most importantly, remain calm--”_

 

And May was trying to be, really, but she knew her nephew. _Ever the hero_ , she thought bitterly. She knew fully well Peter would be compelled to go seek out that man, that cult; they had reportedly _killed_ people. May knew Peter wouldn’t be able to stand by and watch as that man terrorized New York, and May was confident in her nephew.

 

Confident in her nephew’s ability to go and get himself killed in a spider costume.

 

May composed herself as best she could, and turned back around in her seat, her expression deadly serious. This seemed to catch Peter’s attention.

 

“May, what’s wrong?” he asked, looking concerned.

 

“Peter, I need--” May’s voice cracked as she spoke, but she continued on, “--I need you to promise me you won’t fight them. I mean, this isn’t some petty thievery, or, or…  whatever it is that you usually fight. These guys are capable of so much more,” she rushed out, rubbing her upper arms anxiously. Then, lowering her voice, she hissed, “You could get seriously injured, or killed, or, or…” she trailed off.

 

“I know. I know, May. Hey, look, I won’t do it,” Peter said in a soothing tone, trying his best to calm down his aunt. “I promise I won’t even go near those guys, alright? It’s ok,” he assured.

 

May visibly relaxed, a slow smile forming. “Thank you, Petey. Thank you,” she said, and rounded the table, pulling Peter into a tight hug.

 

Peter squeezed back. “Aunt May, why don’t we just go back home and have a movie night? I’ll text Ned and let him know I can’t make it,” he suggested. May nodded into the crook of his neck, but stayed rooted to the spot. “Aunt May? People are starting to stare.”

 

May pulled back, her eyes wet, and a laugh bubbled up. She pulled out a few crumpled bills from her pocket, and threw them on the table before following her nephew out to the car.

 

May slid into the driver’s seat and turned the ignition, pulling out of the lot. The radio, which was still turned on from earlier, played softly in the background as Peter typed out a message to Ned, explaining the situation. “Ned says it’s all cool,” he said.

 

May made a sound of agreement. She rolled down the windows, and a rush of warm, summer-night air hit her and Peter. The pair rode like that in a calm, comfortable silence for a few minutes. The only sound came from the cars in traffic and the radio, which was transitioning from the last song— “Omen” by Sam Smith— to the next.

 

Peter grinned and reached forward to turn up the volume as ‘Drops of Jupiter’ by Train flowed through the speakers. It was May’s favorite song. She couldn’t help but sing along.

 

_‘Now that she's back in the atmosphere with drops of Jupiter in her hair, hey, hey’_

 

Peter studied his aunt as she danced in her seat and screamed the words she knew so well. She let out a full belly laugh after her voice cracked awfully, and Peter wishes he could live in this little moment forever.

 

He noticed May’s cheeks still glistened in the light of the streetlamps and cars’ headlights, but she looked as though the weight of the world had been lifted from her shoulders. Her eyebrows which were usually pulled together in a worried expression now lay relaxed above her bright, happy eyes. The corners of her mouth no longer turned downwards, but were instead pulled back into a wide, radiant smile.

 

_‘She walks like summer and walks like rain, reminds me that there’s time to change, hey, hey’_

 

She looked so carefree and happy.

 

Peter was so lost in thought, he barely registered that his senses were going absolutely haywire. But by the time he noticed something was wrong, it was already too late. Peter watched, frozen, helpless, as the bright headlights of a semi approached closer and faster.

 

_“MAY! Look out!”_

 

And then, nothing but darkness.

  



	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey! i'm back, if you didn't already notice!
> 
> i honestly didn't, at all, expect to update this so soon, but i had a decent portion of this chapter already done and you guy's response honestly motivated me so much to finish it. so THANK Y'ALL SM AND KEEP IT UP!! xx
> 
> thanks to my good friend Nina for reading over this with me and hypin me up <3
> 
> as usual, if you see any mistakes or anything that needs a tag or warning, please tell me so i can fix it! happy reading!
> 
> TW: somewhat graphic depiction of a panic attack

[The Soundtrack So Far](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6gGLsnd0yVgqGkEmismgXO)

 

Dark.

 

Dark. Dark. Black.

 

Something… something cool and solid, a smooth surface that Peter recognized as the car dash, maybe, pressed into his cheek. He smelled smoke in the air, thick and oppressive, and he heard the faint wail of sirens in the distance. Peter shifted, tried to open his eyes a little.

 

_Bad idea._

 

Instantly, Peter screamed from the _pain._ His entire body felt like it was on fire, his senses dialed up to eleven. It was too bright, too loud, too much, too much, **too much.** Though, that all paled in comparison to the pure terror Peter felt when he saw May through the tears welling in his eyes; she was slumped over the wheel, her face bloodied. She wasn’t moving.

 

“May? May!” Peter called out as he violently shook his aunt, ignoring the stabbing pain in his side. Anything to wake her up, anything at all, but she just couldn’t be…

 

She couldn’t just leave him, not when she was the only family Peter had left. Peter needed May. _“Come on, May, wake up!”_ he tried to say, but all that came out were shallow gasps.

 

Peter couldn’t breathe. It felt like he was drowning and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t resurface. He was being pulled _down, down, down,_ and the edges of his vision began to darken.

 

Once again, he heard sirens. They sounded louder than they had before, but at the same time, they felt far away. All of the sudden, Peter felt extremely sleepy and lightheaded. He closed his eyes, letting the tears stream freely down his cheeks and desperately wishing for this all to be a horrible nightmare, and nothing more.

  
  
  
  


Peter stirred in his bed, and blinked the sleep out of his eyes. Wincing from the pounding in his head, he surveyed his surroundings. Cool, soothing tones of blue, green, and purple on the walls, scratchy bedsheets, beeping machinery. He had an IV running from the back of his hand. _Hospital, then._ But, why was—

 

Oh god. **Oh god.**

 

Horrifying images of the previous night flooded Peter’s mind all at once. The crash, the pain, and _May._ Peter felt like he might be sick.

 

The images dissipated as the door clicked open and an unfamiliar woman wearing purple scrubs slipped in, making sure to shut the door behind her quietly. She had dark brown skin and wavy, jet black hair that was pulled back into a ponytail. The woman, presumably Peter’s nurse, spun back around, looking at a clipboard and completely unaware that Peter was awake.

 

Peter moved to sit up, noting that the pain in his side had lessened slightly. Whatever it was, his healing factor was already starting to take care of it.

 

Peter’s movement had caught the attention of the nurse, who looked up in surprise. “Oh, you startled me! Peter, sweetie, you shouldn’t be sitting up right now,” she said, smiling kindly at him.

 

But the teen could care less about his situation or his well being at the moment. He only had one thought running through his head. Skip the formalities and everything. “Is May… Is she dead?” he blurted out.

 

The nurse’s eyes widened, her smile quickly fading. There was a pregnant pause, then she nodded solemnly. “I’m so sorry. Your aunt died on impact,” she said. “The paramedics, they tried to save her- they really did, but she was already gone.”

 

Truth be told, he had already known the answer, somewhere in the back of his mind. But hearing the words aloud… it made it real. And yet, Peter could only nod in response. He felt numb. He felt absolutely nothing. _Why is that?_ the teen wondered. When Uncle Ben died, Peter had felt overwhelmed by all of the sadness, anger, and the guilt especially. He’d mourned for him, like a normal person. But with May…

 

 _‘Did you care for her at all?’_ his brain spat. _‘Have the past 15 years of your life spent being raised by her meant nothing to you?’_

 

Of course not. They had meant everything. Peter loved May like she really was his own mother. He didn’t know what he’d do now, without her. So why did he feel so hollow?

 

Peter blinked again, came back to reality. He observed the nurse— Michaela, said her badge— as she bustled around, checking machines and jotting down notes on charts. She was humming as she went— a super old song called _Going to California_ , Peter thought. Probably to help pull him out of his head. The teen knew, because it was a technique he himself had employed on his close friend, MJ. He wondered how long he had been stuck in his own reality, looking apathetic. _Michaela probably thinks you’re a freak, or heartless, or that your aunt abused you,_ his mind supplied unhelpfully.

 

Peter sighed and scratched at his cuticles. Michaela noticed. Abandoning her clipboard, she rolled over to the side of the bed on the doctor’s stool. “Hey there, Pete. You back with us now?” she chuckled halfheartedly. Peter didn’t reply, but instead turned his face away from the nurse’s.

 

“Do you want to talk about it?”

 

“Not really.”

 

Michaela nodded. “Believe me, I get it,” she paused, “but I want you to know something. My mom died when I was little. Everybody had told me how to feel, that it’s okay to cry, that I wasn’t responsible for being the strong one in the family, that my feelings were valid. But nobody ever told me that it was valid _not_ to feel anything.”

 

Peter whipped his head around, his wide eyes meeting Michaela’s kind and knowing ones.

 

“Look,” Michaela said. “There’s no right way or wrong way to grieve. Everyone does it differently. All those five stages of grief self help books? Total bullshit. So don’t ever let anyone, even yourself, tell you that you’re mourning wrong, okay?”

 

A moment of silence passed by while Peter thought about everything Michaela had said. Somehow, she had known exactly how he was feeling— or well, not feeling, and told him everything he needed to hear. Briefly, he wondered if Michaela was some some sort of psychic.

 

Then he shook his head. What was more important was that he felt-- er, experienced a sensation somewhat akin to relief. At this new knowledge that he wasn’t alone. That _somebody_ knew what he was going through. That he wasn’t a _freak._

 

Michaela stood, starting to gather up her clipboard and laptop. While doing so, she let Peter know that she’d be back in a little bit to ask the teen some standard medical questions. “Common procedure,” she told him. “I know that all of this is a lot to process, so I’ll give you some time, otherwise I would have done it now.”

 

“Thanks,” Peter replied flatly.

 

Michaela moved to leave the room, but stopped abruptly. She faced Peter, but her eyes darted all over the room, as if searching for the right words. “Um. I don’t want to worry you… but while you were sleeping, the doctors found some anomalies.”

 

Peter bolted upright. _Shit._

 

 _“..._ I’m sure everything is fine, but I just wanted you to know that we might have to do some tests later on. But like I said, it doesn’t look like it’s anything to worry about. I’ll be in to check on you soon.” And with that, she walked out, clicking the door shut behind her.

 

 _Shit shit shitshitshit_ **_shit._ **

 

What was he going to do? If anyone found out about his identity… well. Peter really didn’t want to know what would happen to him. The tests they’d do on him, the lab rat he’d become.

 

While Peter’s mind was panicking, his body took control, like someone had flipped on auto pilot. He _had_ to get out of here. He ripped out his I.V. line and sprung out of bed, searching the room. Out of the corner of his eye, Peter saw… wait. His backpack?

 

He supposed the tow company must have recovered it from the car. Peter rushed to yank the zipper open, digging through its contents. Everything was still there, even his suit. The teen sighed with relief. He didn’t know what he’d do if he didn’t have Spiderman. But all that mattered now was that he had a way out.

 

Peter quickly shed his hospital gown and changed into his suit. Any minute now, someone would notice that he wasn’t still hooked up to all the machines; time was of the essence. He slipped on his web shooters and walked over to the window, sliding the glass open. Then, making sure his backpack was secured, he cast one last glance over his shoulder, towards the door.

 

Peter stopped breathing. Standing there, mouth gaping and eyes wide, was none other than Michaela. **_Fuck._ **

 

This was it. He was done for. Michaela knew his identity, and while she seemed nice… well the opportunity was just too good to pass up. She could do anything with the information; leak it, in exchange for money, to a number of news publications, or shady scientific organizations, hell, even the government. And surely they would pay a hefty sum for his identity, and even nice people can betray you for money. Peter was helpless in the situation.

  
“ _Please,_ don’t tell anyone,” was all that Peter could say. And then he jumped.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> teeheehee
> 
> this is only the beginning. expect a long and whumpy ride.
> 
> your comments and kudos have so much power! they motivate me to keep crankin this shit out, lmao. As always, feedback is welcome and encouraged! i promise, i read and cherish them so much <33
> 
> come visit me on my tumblr! you can check for news on updates (and yell at me to update) here: https://www.tumblr.com/blog/mediatrixofallgraces


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who's back!!
> 
> I really am sorry for not updating this sooner- life and school are sort of kicking me in the ass right now... And then my computer broke, and mostly the inspiration for writing was just not there. But, enough excuses- if you've stuck around since my first chapter, just know that i really appreciate it!! Seriously, I love y'all <33 hopefully the slight increase in length makes up for the wait a little bit
> 
> Huge thanks to @thatdorknina for reading this over with me and hypin me up, as always. You're a good bro, bro. lmao
> 
> happy reading!

[The Soundtrack So Far](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6gGLsnd0yVgqGkEmismgXO)

Breathe in. Breathe out.

  
  
Peter closed his eyes and allowed himself to fall freely. Gusts of wind whipped in his ears loudly, and across his face and body. The wind would have stung his skin, if not for the thin material of his suit shielding him. 

  
  
He took in the lived-in smell of the city. Queens, New York. His home. His safe, beautiful, familiar home. The bustle of the lively borough grew louder as Peter neared the ground. He felt his sixth sense start to tingle, signaling danger. At the last second, Peter let his eyes flutter open and shot out a web, swinging right over the heads of a cheering crowd of spectators.

 

On any other day, Peter would’ve felt free-- alive and clear-headed, swinging and diving and soaring through the air. Usually, the New York air brought him nothing but calm and content. Unfortunately for Peter, the last fifteen or so hours had been anything but ordinary.

 

_ Overstatement of the fucking century, _ the teen thought.

 

In less than a day, not only had he lost his aunt-- the woman who had raised him for the majority of his life, and thereby his old home and life. No, he'd also revealed his true identity to a total stranger; the one thing that, up until this point, he’d had control over. Peter Parker was a homeless, orphaned, teen superhero, and with every hour that would pass, his chances of being kidnapped in the back of a white van by the government increased.

 

Today, the mask he wore and the title he carried as Spider-man brought him only anxiety and dread.

 

A voice filtered through Peter’s suit. “Peter, it appears you are about to experience an anxiety attack. It is recommended that you try some deep breathing exercises,” said Karen, Peter’s— or well, Mr. Stark’s— AI. 

 

“Oh, well now that you mention it…” Peter noted that he was definitely out of breath, and his chest felt incredibly tight. He let himself dive downwards again as Karen counted backwards from seven. 

 

Breathe in. 

 

The teen wasn’t as close to the ground as last time when he shot out another web, setting a deliberate pace. Karen instructed Peter to hold his breath for four seconds, then counted down from eight. 

 

Breathe out. 

 

_ Seven seconds. Breathe in. Web. Four seconds. Hold. Eight seconds. Breathe out. Repeat. _

 

After a few reps— six, to be exact— Peter roused himself from his reverie, feeling much better. He thanked Karen. 

 

“Of course, Peter,” she replied, and in that moment she sounded almost exactly like May. Peter did a double take, but… no. His mind had to be playing tricks on him. 

 

Peter shook his head. He couldn’t just keep swinging around the city forever. He needed a game plan. He needed… he needed Ned. His best friend, his guy in the chair, and the closest thing Peter had to family anymore. If anyone would know what to do, it would be Ned. 

 

With that in mind, Peter shot out a web, making a U-turn around the nearest building and heading in the opposite direction. 

  
  
  
  


Peter made it across the city and into Queens’ suburbs, then changed into his civilian clothes (the outfit he’d stuffed in his backpack was still there, thank god)  in record time, but now that he was approaching Ned’s house, he was starting to panic. How was Peter going to tell him? What if Ned hated him? 

 

_ Really?  _ Peter thought.  _ You have to explain to your best friend how you let your aunt just die, and you seriously think there’s any possibility of him  _ **_not_ ** _ hating you? He loved May too, you know. You’re lucky if he doesn’t throw you out on the curb! _

 

Well, it’s not like he could turn back, either. He had nowhere else  _ to  _ go. Before the teen could psyche himself out any more, he strode up to Ned’s window and tapped on the glass, not really in the best state of mind to deal with his friend’s parents at the moment. From in between the blinds, he watched as Ned startled and fell out of his chair. It should’ve made Peter laugh, but his serious expression didn’t change.

 

Ned, however, perked up when he locked eyes with his friend, and he rushed over to open the window. “Peter!” he cried out, excitedly. He stepped back to let Peter climb in. Then, scrunching up his face in thought, he said, “Wait. I thought you weren’t going to make it this weekend.”

 

"Surprise!" Peter laughed nervously, trying for his best fake smile. This wasn’t going to work. Instantly, Peter's mind screamed,  _ Go back, bad idea, abort, abort! _

 

"Peter?" He turned around to see Ned on the other side of the room. When did he get there? Peter must have zoned out. "Are you okay?" Ned asked.

 

"Y-Yeah, course. Why wouldn't I be? Totally fine," Peter rambled. Ned gave him a look.  _ Abort, abort, abort, abort _ **_abort_ ** _ \-- _

 

Suddenly, Peter felt his knees buckle and start to give out beneath him. But before he could hit the ground, Ned surged forward and caught him under his arms. Peter hissed, the dull throbbing pain in his sides hadn't completely healed up, then. Ned moved Peter so that he could sit on the bed, then joined him, his presence warm and comforting.

He looked extremely concerned now. "Peter, what--"

 

“It’s nothing,” Peter insisted, growing defensive. Ned scoffed.

 

“Show me then.”

 

“What?”

 

“If it really is nothing, then I’m sure you won’t have a problem with showing me,” he challenged.

 

Heart pounding, Peter wordlessly lifted up his shirt so Ned could see the ugly purple and yellow bruises that had bloomed there. Christ, even Peter hadn’t realized they were that bad.

 

Ned's eyes widened. "Peter, that’s not nothing.”

 

“Yeah, no shit, Ned,” the other boy snapped.

 

“What happened?"

 

Peter let the shirt fall back down and hunched over, his knees pulled up to his chest protectively. He told Ned everything. He stumbled over his words and rushed through the things he didn’t want to talk about-- which was all of it-- and he kept his eyes trained on the floor the entire time. Ned comforted him and encouraged him through the especially hard parts, though Peter wasn’t quite sure why. What he was sure of, though, was that he didn’t deserve Ned.

 

When Peter finished, neither of them spoke for a while. May might have been Peter’s aunt, but Ned was nothing short of family, and Peter knew that they were close. Then Ned asked, “So May… she’s really gone?” The pain was evident in his voice.

 

For the first time since he got there, Peter met Ned’s gaze. His own eyes were wide, and he was aware of the tears that were about to spill over. His throat felt too tight to speak, so he simply nodded. 

 

“Peter,” started Ned, “I’m so, so sorry.” Without hesitation, he surged forward and wrapped Peter in a fierce embrace. Peter was shocked; he’d expected Ned to be angry, he’d expected him to yell at Peter to leave, but he didn’t. And then something like a strangled cry wrenched itself from Peter’s throat, and at last, Peter wept. He wept, and soon the weeping turned into ugly sobs that wracked his entire body; he sobbed until he had no tears left to shed. 

 

There were wet splotches of tears and snot on Ned’s shirt, but he didn’t seem to care. He rubbed soothing circles on Peter’s back. Peter was mumbling something into Ned’s shoulder. 

 

“What?” Ned asked softly. 

 

“I could have saved her.” The words broke Ned’s heart. 

 

“No. Stop. You can’t blame yourself.”

 

“But I’m not wrong! Why should people call me a superhero, trust me with  _ their _ safety, if I can’t even protect my own family? First Uncle Ben and now May… I couldn’t save either of them!” Peter said, his voice shaking. 

 

“Peter, I’m not saying this as your friend, but from an objective perspective. You couldn’t have done anything. You didn’t know that truck was coming, and even if you sensed it a few seconds earlier, what could you have done as Spider-Man from inside the car?” Ned reasoned. 

 

“I could’ve taken the wheel. As Peter Parker.”

 

“And what? Swerved into more oncoming traffic?” Peter looked away. “Please, Pete. You can’t do this to yourself.”

 

“Just,  _ drop it _ , Ned,” Peter replied with a bit more force than necessary. He took a deep breath, “Sorry. I’m sorry.”

 

“I know,” whispered Ned.

 

Ned opened his mouth to speak again, but was interrupted by a loud grumble coming from Peter’s stomach, ripping through the silence. They stared at each other for a moment before Ned abruptly erupted into giggles. Peter cracked a small smile. 

 

“When was the last time you ate?” Ned asked, once he’d calmed down. 

 

Peter grimaced. “Not since… Um. Not since I went out with May.”

 

Ned smiled sadly at him. “Why don’t we order a pizza, then? After all, you  _ are  _ a growing superhero with a metabolic enhancement; you need to eat.”

 

“I’m sorry Ned, I just don’t think I can stomach anything tonight.”

 

Ned hummed, thinking. “Okay, do you think you could just try some hot chocolate for me?” Ned encouraged. Peter nodded, hesitant. “Great! I’ll go make those, and you can pick out a movie for us to watch,” he half stated, half asked. 

 

“Star Wars movie marathon?”

 

Ned grinned, “Heck yes!”

  
  
  
  


Ned was fast asleep after only the third episode,  _ Revenge of the Sith,  _ but Peter lay still, wide awake. Ned’s mom had come in a little while ago to check on them, giving both boys a kiss on the forehead before turning in for the night. It all felt so… normal. It felt wrong. 

 

Peter Parker was an orphaned, homeless, teen superhero, and he definitely didn’t deserve Ned, or movie nights with hot chocolate, or kisses on his forehead. He didn’t deserve the kindness and concern from Ned’s parents that would surely follow if he told them about May. Not even Sunday dinners, the whole family gathered around the table, because he didn’t deserve to be taken in by them in the first place. He didn’t deserve normal. 

 

With only those thoughts in mind, Peter slipped out of the bed, and carefully stepped around Ned, who had offered to take the floor so Peter could get a good night's rest. More kindness he didn’t want, and couldn’t return. 

 

He pulled his suit out from his backpack, but before Peter put it on, he decided to leave a note for Ned. He’d never wish for Ned to worry, or become concerned, or even feel guilty, as though  _ he _ pushed Peter away. 

 

_ You could never,  _ Peter thought. 

 

Finding a notebook and a pen, Peter scribbled down:

 

_ Ned, _

_ I’m sure by now you’ve realized that I’m gone. I’m sorry if I caused you and your parents any anxiety or trouble. None of you deserve that.  _ _ I’m just scared of starting fresh, and forgetting what led me here. Of leaving May behind. _ _ It’s just better this way. I’m not sure where I’ll go- _

 

Peter glanced up at Mr. Stark’s suit, but… no. Mr. Stark hadn’t contacted him since Germany, and probably never would again. He definitely wouldn’t want to look after some stupid kid with a dead aunt. He huffed, hurt and angry at the thought, but continued to write,

 

_ -but please, don’t worry about me. I’ll figure everything out. I promise. _

_ \- Peter _

 

It wasn’t enough, not nearly enough. But it would have to do. For the second time today, Peter quietly slipped into his suit and left through the open window. Only, this time, leaving was so much harder. Peter sniffed, and tightened the straps of his backpack before taking off. He didn’t look back once.

 

Twenty minutes later saw the teenager sitting atop the [New York Times building](https://stashpocket.files.wordpress.com/2008/01/thenewyorktimes8.jpg), his legs dangling off the edge. He pulled off his mask, confident that he’d be alone fifty-two stories up and breathed in the cool night air, focusing on the lights and the commotion down below.

  
Once he regained his breath, Peter dug through his backpack and took out his phone and his Spider-Man hoodie that May had gotten him a while back. He tugged it over his head and popped in his earbuds. Scrolling through his music, he finally settled on  _ Subterranean Homesick Alien  _ by Radiohead, and settled in, watching over ‘the city that never sleeps.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comfort? hA you thOUghT sksks
> 
> constructive feedback is welcome and encouraged!! your comments and kudos give me LIFE I AM SERIOUSLY NOT EVEN JOKING <33
> 
> as always, you can come yell at me on my tumblr lmao @mediatrixofallgraces


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